


Marigolds and Peonies

by Atroposisms



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Kittenplay, Master/Pet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Petplay, Smut, Sorta lollll, Tags Contain Spoilers, There may be a plot at some point we'll see, petnames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atroposisms/pseuds/Atroposisms
Summary: One-shot series involving Satan.Love, like flowers, blooms and withers away, only to bloom yet again.
Relationships: Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 323





	Marigolds and Peonies

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of the 'A New Year's Toast' Devilgram story.

“A Grimm for your thoughts?” Satan asks, patting down the pocket of his pants to see if he can procure said coin to hand to you. “Why are you smiling?” His words are a bit slurred, and he winces a bit - he knows he’s completely and utterly drunk. Worse: he knows that  _ you _ know that he’s drunk.

How embarrassing. 

He intended to take you out on a lovely little date, so you could celebrate New Years just as you did in the human world.  _ Instead _ \- and he knew this to be the fault of his petty brothers - his own drink had been switched out for alcoholic versions. And you kept wanting to toast him, downing shot after shot, under the impression that neither of you would be drunk. So here he was: holding onto your arm and leaning against you like a sorority girl drunk for the first time, tottering home on a walk of shame.

Which was what he felt - shame. This was not how he wanted to present himself to you, but what was he going to do? Say no when you raised your glass and said ‘cheers’? 

(Silver lining? He could feel the warmth of your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes, smell the faint fragrance you wore that was as sweet as apple pie, and he had made you  _ laugh _ tonight. Repeatedly. Note to self: mention this to Mammon (and the others) later, to rub it in his face as payback for swapping out the toso.)

At any rate, he thought your smile and your bright laughter was well worth his own embarrassment over being plastered.

“I apologize, I’ve no Grimm to give you,” he says, actually disappointed in himself for only carrying around a card and no cash. It was easier, after all, to call the bank to get charges reversed than it was to get Mammon to cough up any bills he had stolen. 

“That’s alright! You don’t need to give me anything else - tonight was more than enough.” You laugh quietly. “Was thinking about how you’re really cute,” you say.

Satan trips over nothing (although he would later dismiss that it was ‘nothing’ and that it was, in fact, uneven pavement). Thankfully for both his face and his ego, you’re able to steady him, and he doesn’t fall into the belladonna bushes. When he’s as steady as he can manage in this state, you apparently decide to send him reeling once more. 

“And I’m glad it’s you who took me out tonight, and not anyone else,” you add, smiling still. Letting go of his arm, you instead take hold of his hand and lace your fingers with his, and squeeze gently. “Thank you for a great start to the new year.”

Heat floods his cheeks, and he looks away, hoping that you’ll think the redness on his face is due merely to the toso. 

-

“Stay with me.”

The words slip from him before he can stop himself, just as they had been all night. There’s a very strong urge to smack himself in the face for asking you such a thing. Still, he can’t deny that he desperately wants you to spend the night with him.

“Hm?” You pause, and peer down at him. You were placing a few items on his nightstand for when he woke up - water, painkillers, his phone (on silent). Demon physiology wasn’t exactly a point of expertise for you, and you were unsure of whether or not demons experienced hangovers but really, better safe than sorry.

“Stay with me,” Satan says again, quietly, then pauses. “Please?” He reaches out and grabs hold of your jacket sleeve, tugging lightly. At least he had the ready-made excuse of being drunk if you said no. “Nothing more than sleep, of course, I would  _ never _ -”

He stops when he sees your smile unfurl - slowly, maybe a little shyly. 

Maybe you should have gone back to your room to sleep - but that was a long trek to the opposite side of the house, and a few flights of stairs. Plus dealing with Mammon and Levi and Asmo, who were no doubt still awake at this hour. Satan’s bed was right there, looking very comfortable and warm - with the demon himself lying there, looking up at you with bright eyes.

How could you say no?

“Yeah, of course. And I know you wouldn’t do anything,” you say, and laugh a little. You shrug out of your jacket, draping it over a pile of books and toe out of your shoes. 

Satan stares at you, unable to stop himself from grinning. Pushing aside the covers, he pats the spot next to you. You slide into his bed, facing away from him, and settle the comforter about the two of you. 

Hesitating for just a moment, he reaches over, draping an arm over your waist and tugging you tight to his chest.

“Is this alright?” He rests his chin against the top of your head, enjoying the warmth of your body, the feel of you pressed tight against him. 

“Mmhm.” You squirm a little bit, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Goodnight, sleep tight.”

Closing his eyes, Satan nuzzles into your hair, inhaling deeply. “Goodnight, kitten.”

You stiffen slightly.

“Um…”

The siren call of sleep has faded away, and Satan swears there’s mocking laughter instead. 

Removing his arm immediately, he scoots back from you, wondering if you’re going to simply get up and return to your own room. 

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, you can leave if you’d like. I -” Satan swallows, and runs a hand through his hair. Stupid alcohol, stupid Mammon for getting the chef to swap it out, stupid  _ him _ for calling you -

There’s a snort from you, and he then realizes you’ve curled into a ball, shaking with laughter. Turns out it was from you. Satan lays there, unsure of how to feel about your reaction. On the one hand, you haven’t left. On the other hand, you  _ are _ laughing at him. 

“No, no, it’s  _ fine. _ Really, it is. I’m…” You straighten out, and turn around to face him. There are tears in your eyes, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. “I’m just -” You pause, getting a few more wheezes out. “You’re adorable. And really sweet.” 

Moving even closer, you take his arm and place it back around your waist. “I don’t mind. I like it, you can call me that if you want. When it’s just the two of us, of course.”

A little closer now. 

His heart is racing furiously, drunken mind as slow as tar, trying to work through the implications of your words. He can make out every detail of your face, and you’re so soft, so kind and caring, and he can’t quite believe that you’re here. You’re still here, and with  _ him - _

Your lips press chastely against his mouth, lingering for just a few seconds before you pull away.

“Goodnight, Satan.”

He manages to pull himself together, just a little bit.

“Goodnight...kitten.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr @ atroposisms


End file.
